Song fic Violet Hill Coldplay
by SevenDeadlyCyns
Summary: With the magical world on repair, Viktor Krum remembers the one that got away...    Disclaimer: All of the Harry Potter belongs to JK Rowling!


"Nazdravia!" The clinking of glasses accompanied the sounds of victory, vodka pouring freely in celebration. Finally, after the Second Battle of Hogwarts, the last of the Dark Lord's Death Eaters were rounded up and Azkaban rebuilt and refortified. The magical world was safe now and there was rejoicing all over the world. Even in Bulgaria, Viktor Krum sat raising toasts to freedom from darkness, yet before the brim of the glass could touch his lips, the corner of his eye caught sight of a familiar face.

Beneath a stack of napkins laid a newspaper in English. Taking it from the stack, Viktor saw that it was a copy of the _Daily Prophet_. On the cover, with a smile that warmed his heart and eyes filled with joy, was Hermione Granger, standing at the front of a crowd of people for the dedication of the new statue at the Ministry of Magic. She was scarred a bit, marks of valor on her fair skin changing none of her unconventional allure. To him, she was just as beautiful as she was years ago, the night of the Yule Ball.

_Was a long and dark December_

_From the rooftops I remember_

_There was snow, white snow_

_Clearly I remember_

_From the windows they were watching_

_While we froze down below_

There they were, floating on the dance floor, sharing an unforgettable night. Viktor was dressed in blood red and fur, immersing himself in the glow of that strange and wonderful girl. Then, he was a Tri-wizard Champion, hero of Durmstrang, Bulgarian Quidditch god. Despite everything, Hermione never saw him as anyone more than the average man and captured his attentions as no girl had done before. Those were the days where the only darkness found was between the diamond studs of the sky, not lurking in the halls of the Ministry, burning in the plots of once trusted friends.

_When the future's architectured_

_By a carnival of idiots on show_

_You'd better lie low_

It was this moment that stood as a beacon in time, a candle in the tempest of the years that followed. He had seen her again, briefly, at the wedding of Fleur Delacour to Bill Weasley. Then, just like now, she was still able to silence him like a shy schoolboy.

_If you love me won't you let me know?_

Yes, he was a fool not to say just how he felt before. She had said something about 'sort of' being in a relationship. Confusing as that was, it didn't break his resolve. There were other nice girls- the Weasley sister for one- but none compared. Looking back on that day, taking his shot of vodka, he shook his head. He should have spoken up! What had stopped him!

Then, he remembered.

Death Eaters. That was what happened. War was what happened.

_Was a long and dark December_

_When the banks became cathedrals_

_And a fog became God_

_Priests clutched onto bibles_

_Hollowed out to fit their rifles_

_And the cross was held aloft_

_Bury me in armor_

_When I'm dead and hit the ground_

_My nerves are poles that unfold_

_If you love me won't you let me know?_

Paying his tab, he made his way home, a flat just big enough to fit what little he had. With the war over, the wizarding world could resume with Quidditch and he could go back to how things were. Almost. There was one last thing to do.

_I don't want to be a soldier_

_Who the captain of some sinking ship_

_Would stow, far below_

_So if you love me why'd you let me go?_

The path was familiar despite the thin sheath of snow. The crunching underfoot snapped him back into reality when he thought he was merely dreaming. Viktor tramped up the hill, a single rose in hand primed to make his debut. Hogwarts was still in the process of rebuilding but what was there was truly a sight to see, framework for the spires and battlements hinting at a castle as grand as the one that once stood there. It brought a smile to his face, taking away whatever nerves he had.

Reaching the top of the last hill, he noticed great billowing tents and pennants flying, garlands of flowers in pink and red everywhere in the little village of Hogsmeade. Surely, he thought, this was in celebration of the end of the Death Eaters. His instinct told him he would find her here, yet as he came closer, he was not so sure. It was not until a familiar hand pulled him in that he noticed this was right where he needed to be.

"Krum!" exclaimed Harry Potter, "Viktor, it's good to see you! How long has it been?" Viktor smiled and replied, "Too long, my friend!"

"Ha! It has been! Hermione will be here any moment now. Oh wait! Here she comes now!"

Suddenly, his heart pounded faster. He forgot what to do, what to say! In a struggle to regain his confidence and his thoughts, he adjusted himself and gravitated with the crowd of old friends from the year of the Tournament. It was not until he saw her that he knew just what to do.

_I took my love down to Violet Hill_

_There we sat in the snow_

_All that time she was silent still_

_So if you love me won't you let me know?_

Dressed in white chiffon and lace, a bouquet of pink and red roses in her hand and hair dotted with flowers, Hermione made her way through the slowly parting crowd, beaming with pride, the diamond and ruby heirloom shining on her ring finger. At her side, as he would be until death did they part, was her husband, the blissful Ronald Weasley, locked hand in hand with her as a flurry of bubbles and songbird charms filled the air above them.

The couple drew nearer to him and he could see the joy on Hermione's face. There she stood in radiant glory, more beautiful than he had ever imagined her in all of his memories, another man's wife. Viktor could say nothing, do nothing, but smile. With one swift and almost theatrical swoop, deep crimson rose petals flew from Viktor's hand through the air above the newlyweds. His eyes locked with hers, neither face faltering from the immense happiness there, and in that moment, they shared a silent farewell.

_If you love me, won't you let me know?_


End file.
